Blaine eyed the neatly displayed refreshments just outside the chapel and clenched his fists. Fruit punch and tea weren’t what he wanted, unless they were spiked with bourbon. His stomach twisted. This had to be done. It was his duty, just like serving in Iraq. He pushed open the doors just as the preacher asked if anyone had any objections.
“I sure as heck object,” Blaine’s voice boomed across the chapel.
Whispers grew as he marched up to the pulpit. Not surprising considering Roy McCoy stood next to his old fiancé. That snake oil salesman swept her off her feet while Blaine was off on tour. The man had the gall to smirk at him as he approached.
Tiffany looked fantastic, the picture of health. There was no trace of the mysterious illness that only Roy could cure. Barely contained anger coursed through Blaine’s veins. He still loved her.
“Blaine,” she whispered. “Don’t do this. Please.”
Bombs and enemy gunfire were easier to face than the pleading in her eyes. Courage prevailed.
“If you don’t want me, that’s fine, but I can’t let you marry this worm.” He pulled an evidence bag with a bottle of ipecac syrup from his pocket and held it up.
“Officer Baker found this in Roy’s apartment along with a mess of other drugs. He’s the reason you were so sick, Tiffany. There’s a warrant for his arrest. His last wife disappeared. Officer Baker is waiting outside. The choice is yours.”